


Yield

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21551926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto wants some.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Cor Leonis
Comments: 13
Kudos: 117





	Yield

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Prompto tries for an entire _year_ to make his final dream come true. He already has the best friends he could ever ask for, a decent side job, a university degree to put behind his photography, and he’s been accepted for the Crownsguard program, but he remains blissfully single right up until his first training drill. Then he’s absolutely smitten. He meets the man of his dreams in the lobby of the Citadel, and he doesn’t care if that man is cold as stone or twice his age. Prompto gets lost in his sheer _strength_ , his sturdy, grounding personality and the tranquility that follows him, even after a grueling match that leaves Prompto drenched in sweat. It takes forever for Prompto to actually be able to make the _marshal_ break a sweat, but then it’s _so worth it_ , because Cor looks even better when he’s breathing hard and glimmering, finally forced to strip out of his jacket. 

He doesn’t respond to Prompto’s lame jokes or subtle winks or the one time Prompto works up the courage to ask for _private_ lessons. Cor seems uninterested in whatever personality Prompto tries to adopt, because he _knows_ he’s not good enough on his own, but he doesn’t have luck with anything else. He tries dressing up different ways—he blows his entire paycheck on a fancy suit, then some cool biker wear, then an all spandex cat suit that shows off every single muscle he’s worked so hard to earn. Still nothing. Seven months in, he breaks and consults Noctis, who looks at him like he’s crazy and isn’t any help at all.

Then Prompto actually makes it through the program, gets his official gear, has his papers signed and spends the whole ceremony moping because it means he won’t have an excuse to see Cor again.

Except he’s grabbed by the arm on the way out of the Citadel and asked if he wants a memento for his trouble. Prompto has no idea what that means but instantly says yes. 

They crowd into the elevator together, alone, Prompto tense with nerves, and Cor says, “You’ve done well, Prompto.”

Prompto almost melts onto the elevator floor. He babbles, “Thank you, Sir.”

The doors open, and Cor steps out—Prompto follows right along to his private office. Ignis’ is just across the hall. Prompto could go and ask for a ride home. He should call Noctis and celebrate. 

Except he’s suddenly being thrown up against the inside of the door in Cor’s office, and a mouth slams into him so hard that he actually gasps in pain. Cor’s tongue shoves into his open mouth, Cor’s body pressed up into his, crushing the air out of his lungs. Cor grinds into him, all hard muscles and sharp lines. Cor blankets him entirely, kissing him with a fervor that makes his knees weak. He’d collapse if Cor’s weight weren’t pinning him to the door. He moans into Cor’s mouth. One of Cor’s hands falls to his hip, fingers digging into Prompto’s flesh, but the other hand cups his cheek, and it’s _almost_ gentle. Cor’s palm is warm, soft, and soothes Prompto’s racing pulse. Cor guides him through one expert kiss after another until they’re properly in sync. Cor’s always been a good teacher. Prompto’s always been eager to learn from him. Prompto learns to match Cor’s pace and welcome Cor’s tongue, until everything is perfect and he’s dizzy from how _good_ it feels. 

Cor licks the side of Prompto’s mouth. A shudder runs through Prompto’s body, and he almost laughs as Cor’s stubble tickles him—Cor kisses his cheek. Cor shifts lower, nipping lightly below his jaw. Then Cor’s sinking straight down to his knees, and Prompto’s eyes go wide. 

Cor the Immoral, the Marshal, the greatest swordsman in Insomnia, kneels before Prompto. He unfastens Prompto’s belt with a deft efficiency that Prompto would probably find impressive if he were capable of coherent thought. He’s only gaping, disbelieving and desperate not to wake up. It has to be a dream. Cor opens his fly and reaches into his skinny jeans, completely bypassing his boxers, closing in around his cock. Prompto cries out and trembles as Cor draws it out. 

Cor ducks beneath it and presses his tongue flat against Prompto’s sac. Prompto chokes, hands darting into Cor’s short hair. Without a word of explanation, Cor drags his tongue down the entire length of Prompto’s cock, right to the crowning head, where he sucks up the bead of precum that’s come to attention. Prompto’s immediately hard. 

He’s immediately relieved, because Cor opens wide and descends on him. Prompto gasps. He can’t draw air in fast enough. His heart’s beating so hard. Somehow, Cor’s expression is still serious, just a little softer, as he takes Prompto deeper into his hot, wet mouth. His hands lift to pin Prompto’s hips in place, which is probably a good idea, because Prompto wants to slam forward so bad that he can hardly stand it. 

He doesn’t have to. Cor does all the work. He burrows down ridiculously far, taking Prompto’s shaft right into his throat, and then he pulls away and starts bobbing halfway off and all the way on. He hollows out his cheeks while he does it, sucking Prompto _hard_ , and Prompto’s already seeing stars. His blunt fingertips dig into Cor’s skull, hips squirming in Cor’s grasp. It’s insanely hot. Delicious. Pleasure ricochets through Prompto’s entire body, turning his mind to mush. 

He should probably say something. _Thanks_ sounds so stupid, but he’s _so_ grateful. It’s so worth it. It’s not what he expected, but he doesn’t care. He’s dizzy with happiness. Cor stops bobbing and instead sinks down, burrowing right into the base of Prompto’s cock, burying his nose in Prompto’s golden pubic hair. Another suck is all it takes—Prompto bursts inside his mouth. 

Prompto’s probably never come so much in his life. Cor swallows it down with relative ease. Every time he swallows, Prompto can _feel_ it, and that milks out another spurt. By the time he’s finished, his vision’s blurry. Cor gives him an extra suck, even after it’s all spent. 

Cor slowly pulls off, letting Prompto’s flagging cock fall out of his mouth. It hits Prompto’s open zipper, damp and satiated. Prompto winces at the contact. It takes everything he has not to collapse. Cor wipes his mouth off on his sleeve and pushes back up. 

He cups Prompto’s chin and goes in for a bruising kiss that destroys the last of Prompto’s brain cells. He’s completely gone. 

Cor mutters, “Welcome to the Crownsguard,” like this is some bizarre ritual he gives every new recruit. Prompto very much doubts that. 

Prompto mumbles blearily, “Can I buy you dinner?”

Cor snorts. Prompto immediately regrets talking. He knows he sounds like an idiot, but to be fair, he just had his brains sucked out of his dick. Cor finally quirks a small smile. 

He suggests, “Let’s start with coffee. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

Prompto has work tomorrow. He’ll cancel it. He nods because he doesn’t have the wherewithal to do anything else. 

Cor gives him a final peck on the cheek, weirdly chaste. Then Cor’s tucking Prompto in and fastening his pants. Maybe it’s obvious Prompto can’t do it himself.

The door opens, and Cor ushers him through it, but Prompto very much hopes that he’ll be back in no time at all.


End file.
